Kismet
by IHKF
Summary: Kendall finds her life is suddenly plagued with odd dreams and hallucinations, guided only by a boy who refers to her as "The Chosen One". As she unravels mystery after mystery, Kick and Gunther begin tracing her footsteps...
1. Prologue

Kendall Perkins lived a boring life; deep in some metaphorical jewelry box she whipped out only in her most intimate moments, she had this thought stashed away—she knew this.

Her boyfriend was boring, her home was boring, her friends (or lack thereof) left her _feeling_ bored…

Kendall woke in a queen-sized bed with her sheets hardly messed, hair straight in three—she counted- strokes of a brush, with her books and journals sitting in wait near her front door, lunchbox sitting at the edge of a counter convenient for grabbing. The rest of her day was spent sitting up straight at every desk she took, chair scooched so close that the tip of her desk pressed against the end of her lungs, hands folded as she placed her undivided attention in whatever material had been splayed out across the board in fading marker. She'd sidestep, or trip over, whatever Kick Buttowski's mess of the day was, visit Ronaldo just to listen to him quote poetry in binary, come home for the day, and spend her last few remaining hours on essays that wouldn't be due for another two weeks.

The trend would follow her into middle school, of that she was sure, and seeing as she was so obviously a creature of habit, it'd follow her well into high school.

Sometimes she wondered if that would be all there was, just textbook after checkered vest—candlelit dinner beside a statue of the molecular structure of a strand of DNA after class election. She'd catch a flash of red flying by her tense shoulder, hear the deep mellow of a familiar boy and the youthful charm of its ever-devoted companion; the normalcy of it left a sinking, empty feeling in the dead center of her looping stomach.

She often thought she'd have been better off on good terms with Kick. Her life would have a flavor to it, and she swore she'd prefer the hair-ripping anxiety of ridiculous over-the-top stunts than the blandness of rewatching every Marcel Pompeau she'd come to own. She lived for the coincidences life always left for her like a candy trail, times where she'd be swept up in one of Kick's shenanigans and Gunther's screaming, and she'd get the smallest taste of what it was like to ride wild—to be alive.

Then it would all end. Kick would part from her with an insult, sometimes it'd stick and prick and bleed, and she'd snap back at him and they'd be right back to the beginning. She'd long missed her opportunity to be anything but his enemy, and long driven out the chance of being a friend.

Kendall shook her head and, upon noting the creek of her back, stood straighter and took each step with a façade of confidence when she walked. Other kids flittered around her, some in third grade with headbands from class spelling words they'd been learning, some in fourth grade with fists raised at the retreating shadows of the impish second graders, and some in her grade just buzzing with excitement because the end of the year was quickly approaching.

They'd all be sixth graders soon.

Something deep brown—dark brown—flashed at the corner of her eye, and Kendall found her head spinning in slow motion. Her hair fell over her sunken shoulder in cascades. People pushed into her back, tried to knock her sideways, bounced off her frame in a rush to get to class, but they weren't any faster than she was. A boy, hardly blinking, hardly seeing anything but the ground laid before him, dressed in rags of green and blue and brown, hands in his pockets with eyes so sharp and dark they were like needles to her chest, passed her by one second and disappeared in a shroud of transparency. It was as though sheets of nothing had fallen over him, and Kendall was yet to piece together much of anything but curiosity.

Time continued at its regular pace, and Kendall fell two steps to one side and two steps to the other as people pressed on against her unintentional roadblock. She glanced from side to side, chest buzzing and squirming, hands clenched like claws around the edges of her books. "Did anyone else see that?" No answer. She looked around and called out again, louder this time. "Did anybody see that?" She got funny looks and cold shoulders and aggressive irritation, but not one kid answered her.

It would be something she thought in depth about when she had the time—or not. She did, after all, lead a very boring life.

* * *

Okay so I have NOT looked this over at all, but this is a fic I have planned out to every detail. I've got the outline complete, and if people want to see more of it, there will be more of it. I will also be posting the final chapter of _Jackie, This is All Your Fault_ , but probably later tonight. I've been writing it and rewriting it over for weeks now T_T Sigh...


	2. Chapter 1

When she brushed her hair, it was like silk at her fingertips, falling through the creases as golden as honey—still boring.

Kendall shifted the brush through the last of her tangles, feeling her eyes flutter shut just before she opened them again. Her vision was blurry, and she rolled her eyes around and shook her head because she couldn't fall asleep just yet. The surface of her vanity faded in and out, and she glanced up at the mirror to see if she looked half as tired as she felt.

Her reflection was clean and her skin was clear, though she could see the bags beginning to form under her squinted eyes. _I still have to study…_ she reached over to a bottle of face cream and pressed the top down twice. _Miss Fitzpatrick is overdue for another pop quiz._

She sighed and rubbed the salve into her cheeks, small circles at the bones before she swiped back and forth below her eyes. Exfoliating and moisturizing were the keys to healthy skin—soft skin, glowing skin, perfect skin. It was something her mother repeated often…

 _I'll want to study for thirty minutes at the very least._

She shut her eyes and let her hands fall onto what should have been the painted white mahogany of her vanity, but her palms met dry molded wood and splinters.

Kendall's head snapped around; there were trees everywhere, and she sat at an old, collapsing picnic table in what must have been a park at some point. The sky above her was so filled with grey clouds that she couldn't see the sky beyond faded colors and unlit grounds. The moon was just enough for her to make out a small playset by the pond, slide torn in half and covered in grime, swings eaten by vines and weeds over decaying seats made for children. The grass was yellow and short at her feet below the table, and though there was a web in the hole she'd let a finger slip, there was no spider. Kendall twisted around and squinted. She must have fallen asleep…

The ground shook, and for a moment Kendall sat perfectly still. When there was a huff and another rumble that shook the entire bench, she shifted; behind her, the size of a tall house and horns as large as the full length of her body, a bull with heated red eyes stood snorting and stomping.

She could make out the dimmest shadow of a boy running into the distance, fading from sight.

She made a move to throw her legs over the side and stand, but the bull wheezed and drew its foot against the dirt and dust. Kendall swallowed hard and pulled her legs up onto the seat with her, pressing her back as hard as she could against the edge of the picnic table. "Now, now Mister Bull… I'm not even wearing any red, see? Why would you wanna hurt little old me?" It snorted and stomped again, leaning down so that its horns were sitting vertical to her face—her eyes, if she wanted to get gory with it. She squeaked and held her breath, sitting as still as possible because maybe, just maybe, it would disappear.

 _It's just a dream, Kendall. You fell asleep at your vanity. You'll wake up any second now…_

The bull grunted.

 _Any minute!_

It charged at her, and Kendall pulled her arms over her face, as though her flesh and bone alone could stop the ever-growing threat of a sharp horn headed straight for her head. The rumbling grew louder and harder and faster and soon the entire table was shaking and she was trembling and she couldn't even scream because the air was lodged like a mace down her throat. She instinctively threw her back against the edge of the table, but found there was no support when she did.

Kendall screamed and fell backwards at her vanity, arms flailing as her head hit the side of her bed and she slid to the floor, legs dangling over the small cushioned seat.

She blinked.


End file.
